Gunmetal Magic(74)

“He cried? Like in joy?”

“More like in horror.”

“Oh no.”

Martina nodded. “Yes, that should have been a clue. Apparently John grew up in this religious cult worshipping some made-up god, and he had been sent out in the world for a year-long pilgrimage. He came to terms about ‘sinning’ with me—probably because I was very good at sinning and he liked it—but a child threw him for a loop. We couldn’t have a child in sin, and he refused to marry me unless we went back and had his prophet do it. The catch was I’d have to sleep with said prophet to have my body purified.”

“No,” I said. “Screw that.”

“That was my reaction. It’s my body and I wouldn’t be abused in this manner. It also let me know real quick that John wasn’t good husband/father material. I told him he was free to hit the road. Me and my baby would be just fine. But John had a change of heart and stuck around. I should’ve twisted his head off right then, but silly me, I thought he had come about because he loved me. I went into labor. The hospital had never had a shapeshifter give birth before and mine was a long and terrible thing. Then I got to hold Ascanio and it was all worth it. He was so beautiful. I was reading this French book at the time about a sculptor and he had this ridiculously good-looking apprentice, whose name was Ascanio. I knew exactly what to name my baby. The hospital sedated me after that to let me rest. When I woke up, my beautiful baby was gone. John took him.”

“He what?”

“He took him back to his cult. He left me a note, the slime. It said that he couldn’t let his son be raised in sin, and since Ascanio was an innocent, he’d be taking him away, but I couldn’t come, because I was tainted by our sin.”

“I would have killed him. I would’ve murdered him right there.”

“I tried,” Martina said. “I looked for him for years. I was bitter and broken by then, and that’s when Aunt B came across me. She was on a trip of some sort. I was, well, the proper term is fucked up. I hadn’t shifted into my animal shape for years. Didn’t seem like there was any point to it. It only brought me misery. She went after me. ‘Come be with your own kind. You don’t have to do anything. Just come, live with us for a bit, and if you don’t like it, you’re free to go.’ Eventually I went with her. It didn’t matter one way or another. So I came here and slowly, little by little, I thawed out. Then the call came. The cult’s prophet decided my boy was too much competition and was mucking up his harem plans, so he called us to come and get him. We did.”

“And John?”

“He’d died a while back. A good thing too, because I would’ve killed him. So you see it’s difficult for us both,” Martina said. “Ascanio never had a mother and I never had a son. We try the best we can and when we find something that can make one of us happy, we both sigh a little in relief. I make him cannoli and he buys me scented soap with his Cutting Edge money. I have two drawers full of it.” A small happy smile lit up her face. “If you ever run out, you let me know. I’ve got enough to keep the whole Pack clean for a week.”

I really liked her. I hadn’t known I would, but I did. Still, things had to be said. “You didn’t come here to tell me this story, did you?”

“No. I came here to talk about the clan and Aunt B.”

“I don’t mean to be rude,” I said. “But there is nothing you can say to make me play ball with Aunt B. I won’t go over there and I won’t beg and scrape to be admitted into the clan, so I can be one of her girls and run her errands. That won’t be happening. And I think it’s cowardly of her to send you in for this talk. Enforcers didn’t work, neither will you, so I wonder what her next move is going to be. How many will she send?”

“She didn’t send me,” Martina said. “My son did.”

“Oh.”

“Do you know what I do for the clan?” she asked.

“No.”

“I’m a licensed therapist,” she said. “I specialize in the areas of family therapy, anger and stress management, adolescent adjustment, and loss and grief counseling. I’m one of ten Pack counselors.”

“I’m not in the Pack,” I told her.

“I know.” She smiled. “This is a freebie.”

“I don’t need therapy.” It sounded hypocritical the moment it left my mouth. “Okay, so maybe I do, but I don’t…I don’t know.”

“This doesn’t have to be a therapy session,” she said. “This could be just the two of us talking. We could talk about Deb and Carrie and their conduct in your parking lot.”